


pearl of the stars

by hellevator



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellevator/pseuds/hellevator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i'd give you everything if only you'd ask for it. but you don't, 'cause you're you. that's why i'll always love you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pearl of the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this is for a prompt i got on tumblr asking me to do something fluffier. just a little one-shot set some (4?) years into the future and i'm going to pretend what happened in my fic domino is what happened with them and yeah. terry got sent to prison for life for murder and they're living in an apartment in the southside and i guess svetlana is out of the picture. yadda yadda yadda. enjoy.

         "Babe, what about this one?" Ian swirled away from the cabinet, holding out a box of cake mixture.  
  
"Will you quit it with that?" The shitty little kitchen in their shitty little apartment had only one shitty little window (and Ian was _persistently_ a nazi over the utility bill) so Mickey had to lean in and squint just to see what type he'd chosen. He shook his head disapprovingly and pushed the other away from the cupboard to peer inside because he hated red velvet and he hated being called pet names and he _wanted_ to hate the smug idiot that was smiling beside him.  
  
"Quit what, baby?" Okay, so he actually did hate him. Only sometimes, though. Much less than he hated anyone else.  
  
"Gallagher, stop with the bullshit. I'm not in the mood." The last thing he wanted to do today was go over to Fiona's for Thanksgiving dinner. Actually, the last thing he wanted to do was bake a fucking cake for said dinner but it seemed like Ian had won on both issues. Although the whole thing was ridiculous because he had only agreed last week when they were fighting over the remote control, a bargaining mechanism. As he stood here being patronized, he decided his judgement had been cloudy and maybe watching another re-run of The Big Bang Theory wouldn't have been all that bad.  
  
"But I thought you said you liked it, _Mickey Mouse_."  
  
"That never happened.." In reality it had though and before the guy could start insisting on things Mickey had wanted to  forget about, he cut him off and added something along the lines of how if he _had_ said it, which he _hadn't_ , it was just to get him to shut his trap. "I want this one."  
  
Ian pondered for a minute before grabbing the box and putting it back. "I don't like german chocolate."  
  
"Then why did you fuckin' buy it?" He used to think that someday he would figure the redhead out but even after a thousand nights spent together, the way he ticked was still a mystery. Sometimes Ian looked at him like he thought the same thing. Maybe that's what kept them digging and searching for answers.. The tiniest little clue always felt like such a huge victory. "And why do we have so many different kinds? You've never baked a damn thing the entire time I've known you."  
  
"I dunno."  
  
He wouldn't press, wouldn't make him feel stupid for spending money on things they were never going to eat even when he had to deal with Ian walking around bitching about the electricity bill for fifteen minutes earlier, because why bother? Where was there room for logic and reasoning with a Gallagher? Besides, he knew he was being grumpy and the shittiest part was that he felt bad about it. Only heightened by the fact that Ian was standing there in front of him, picking at his nails. He could pull off the kicked puppy look better than anyone. And Milkovich continued to consistently fall for his shit without the blink of an eye.  
  
"I just don't see the need for it, is all," he reached for the Ian's collar and tugged him closer until their hipbones were almost aligned. Or they would be, if he didn't seem to tower above him just then.. It was only a few inches but sometimes it felt like miles. He didn't really think it was fair, the way the skin of his arms felt smooth and known, like a road he'd been down a million times. A road that always seemed to lead to home. He wasn't one for sentiments but sometimes they sucker punched him in the jaw and sucked the air out of his lungs. "Unless you're cheatin' on me with the Pillsbury Dough Boy or somethin'." When he cocked an eyebrow up, his tongue poked out to dance around corner of his mouth.  
  
"I'm more of a Jolly Green Giant kinda guy," Ian grinned and swung his arms over tight shoulders, pressing Mickey's backside up against the counter.    
  
"Fuck you." He wasn't sure if that was a stab at his height or just a meaningless thought but there was no denying that Ian loved to play on his insecurities just to rouse a reaction. He should really put more thought into not giving them out so easily. And also maybe consider the whole complex thing for a second but whatever, that was tomorrow's problem.  
  
"Someones tense.." The voice was muffled as Ian leaned over to snake his tongue up the side of his throat, the slicked skin prickling against hot breath.  
  
"I just don't wanna go, man. It's like being stuck around a buncha mentally ill chickens all trying to cluck at once." His observation just elicited a laugh, which was confusing. It might be funny sure, but only if it weren't true.  
  
"Because Milkovich family gatherings are so much more easy going and functional, right?"  
  
"Oh, stop. Iggy hit you one fuckin' time." Ian quit tongue-fucking his neck long enough to look up at him thoughtfully. As he unwrapped one arm from the older one, his thumb raised up to press against the scar etched across his eyebrow-- a direct result of grabbing his brother by the throat and throwing him into the living room table a few months ago. Mickey was painfully aware he couldn't give the other much most of the time, but at least he knew he was protected. That had to count for something.  
  
"I know. I like to think of it as my 'welcome to the family' punch anyway. It's okay, sweetie."

Once in a while (like right now, when he had to bite back a smile that was itching to spread) he felt like a shell of the man he was before. Would wonder sometimes what Ian heard that was so comforting when he pressed his ear to his chest late at night in bed. It definitely wasn't waves crashing on the shore of a beach. Logically, it was just the sound of his own blood pressure amplified back. Hell, maybe it was even poetic or something, that Ian's pulse was enough to soothe them both when they had run out of words.  
  
"Forget about the cake. Let's just go to the bakery on the way over and grab something," Ian breathed out, his calloused hand slipping down into his sweatpants to grip tightly around his cock.

 

"Isn't that what I said we should do in the beginning?" His breath hitched when the grip tightened and began to move up and down, achingly slow.

 

"Yeah well, I didn't think I'd get so distracted, studmuffin." And this time, because it was just the two of them in that dingy apartment, Mickey let himself laugh. Things that he used to think were annoying now seemed to be endearing. He was sure it was supposed to be the other way around but he didn't question anything because then he would start to feel lucky and go full retard. There was only enough room for one mentally challenged person in this relationship.

 

"You think you're funny, don't you."

 

"As some would say, I'm _high-larious_."

 

When Ian leaned in to press their mouths together, Mickey started to thrust himself in the other's hand. He was about to palm the redhead through his boxers but grew impatient and hopped up on the counter instead. There was still such a sense of urgency, something that had never faded even though he kept waiting for it to. Always searching to be closer but using any excuse to bolt. Neither one of them had changed all that much. There was still jealousy and fistfights and hateful words. But at the end of the day, even when Mickey was kicked out those three times and had to sleep on Mandy's couch, there was too strong of a foundation to let it all collapse.

 

Which was so fucking absurd and he _knew_ it was, the way he'd let someone else become so important. Let someone get so close he couldn't tell where he ended and where the other began. But somehow, someway, they'd maneuvered through the carnage and ended up right where they wanted to be. They might have used the exit as an entrance and took a wrong turn here and there but it didn't really matter how they got there. Especially when Ian's lips were now pressed to his collar bone, mending and hungry-- Something he wasn't sure he would ever convince himself he was worthy of.. At least until he reminded himself that his own touch seemed just as healing. The way the other arched his back at the slightest grazing of fingertips against freckled skin, you'd think Mickey held some sort of magic power.

  
  
Ian Gallagher was only a name spray painted on a wall once. Now, an embarrassingly short amount of time later as they both panted trying to catch their breath, his body was satisfyingly covered in flesh graffiti from possessive lips and teeth and nails-- And sure, they were both still dead men. But why spend time thinking about what you are when there's plenty of things you're not? They weren't unhappy. They weren't fragile and wounded. They didn't live in fear anymore. Plus, more importantly.. They weren't alone. Not that Mickey couldn't get by without the kid or some stupid shit like that.  
  
He just didn't want to.  


 

 

 


End file.
